


It's Over, Isn't It?

by scarletrebel



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-01
Updated: 2016-09-01
Packaged: 2018-08-12 11:09:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7932385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scarletrebel/pseuds/scarletrebel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When rumours of Overwatch resurfacing began to grip the world, Hana remembers sitting down with one of her superiors and asking them about the organisation. She didn’t ask about Strike Commander Morrison, but that’s what the conversation quickly turned into. She didn’t ask about Captain Reyes, either. No matter where she went or who she asked, they were a pair. You couldn’t mention one without mentioning the other.  </p>
<p>You certainly couldn’t not mention the promotion, as if it was an event of its own in Overwatch’s history.</p>
<p>Captain Reyes was handed leadership of Blackwatch – not that anyone would know for 20 years. He’d be tasked with the dirty work, the clean-up crew, the allegations that would only help bring Overwatch to its knees once the public decided that they were the problem.</p>
<p>And at some point between then and now, he became the Reaper. A monster. One she was forced to fight alongside.</p>
<p>This may be Hana's only chance to find out why.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's Over, Isn't It?

**Author's Note:**

> Alternative title: Hana Song is severely underestimated, if not a little bit naive, and all is not what it seems.
> 
> (You can see why I didn't go with that one.)
> 
> Hello! This is an idea I've been knocking around for a while. Since first playing Overwatch, I've always wanted to write Hana/D.va, and the fandom talks a lot about how underestimated she is. Amongst a line-up of overwhelmingly interesting characters, she's definitely one I've thought about the most (... whilst I was racking up over 20 hours of gameplay as her.) Mostly, I wanted to explore a different side of Hana, away from her MEKA and the battlefield. 
> 
> This one got away from me, as all my fics tend to do if i'm honest, aha. It was going to be a one shot, but lots of ideas are bouncing around in my mind as to where this could go, so rest assured there will be more.

Hana’s early, she knows. She still didn’t rise until after noon though, which suited her plenty. Mercy might be glad to see Hana not as dishevelled as she usually is when the doctor thinks it’s a good idea to schedule her appointments in the morning. 

She’s donned lounge pants and slip on shoes, a tank top with a matching headband to keep her bangs out of her face. She slides a white bangle onto her wrist, watches it confirm her genetic code and then lock on, obscuring the pale tan mark beneath it. Then she sets off to the med bay, slipping her handheld console into her pocket, putting her game face on.

The metal door slides away as she approaches, entering she spots in her peripheral a conversation she isn’t meant to hear. Winston sits sheepishly in the corner of the med bay, fiddling with his glasses in his lap whist Mercy walks back and forth in front of him, her heels clacking incessantly.

“Whatever you’re working on can surely wait for 8 hours!” Angela yells. She looks over her shoulder as Hana walks in. Hana deigns ignorance by jumping up onto a bed and tapping away on her handheld gaming console without looking back. Angela sighs and turns immediately back to Winston, continuing. “Who knows what kind of awful side effects this could have on your genetic therapy – you’re no use to any of us if you’re exhausted!”

“Given the current climate of our situation we need all Overwatch agents at their very best,” Athena chimes in from everywhere at once. “You’re the only one who has beat Reaper at close quarters combat, and you know we still can’t trust him.”

_Then why even let him in_ , Hana thinks to herself, beating her high score for the seventh time with a scowl on her face. 

Angela looks back to Hana again, whose eyes don’t move from the small screen. She walks towards Winston, says something in German, or Swiss, Hana’s never asked -- and lowers her voice.

“It’s not fair to be asking Jack, or McCree, or even Fareeha to keep their eye on him. Lena’s busy with Widowmaker, to the point where I’m concerned about her health too.”

Winston seems to latch on to this, finally making eye contact with the doctor. At least now Hana knows why Tracer has been – well – less, Tracer-y lately.

“I know, I know.” Winston mumbles.

“It’s imperative that you’re in good shape to – _do_ something should he, or Amélie – if they--”

“I know! I’m – I’m sorry. I’ll get some rest, I promise.”

At his word, and given Hana’s arrival, Angela allows Winston to pad out of the med bay. He spots Hana at the last second and says hi. Hana feels bad for ignoring him, but when Angela calls her name she breaks the act.

“Oh. Hi Winston! Sorry, no one’s gonna beat my high scores but me!”

Winston laughs at that. “It’s alright,” he says, softly, and makes his way out of the room.

“Miss Song, you’re early.”

“Pssht, yeah, maybe cause you threatened to take away my streaming set up if I was late again?”

“Twenty minutes is over-achieving don’t you think?” Angela is smirking, which is good. It’s a fond smile, just what Hana needs.

“You know me, doc.”

“I certainly do,” Angela walks over, blue eyes crystallising over the bangle on Hana’s wrist. “So, tell me, how are things?”

* * *

 

“So you think she’s scared of him?”

Lucio’s legs whir slightly as they dangle from the roof. Despite their purely mechanical nature, somehow, because it’s Lucio, the sound of the artificial joints moving is melodical. Hana hums.

“I think she’s worried.”

“About two Talon agents going a-wall and killing us all in our sleep? Psshht, why would anyone be worried about that?”

“Ex-Talon.” Hana adds, sceptically.

“Supposedly.” Lucio’s eyebrows knit together in disbelief.

“I mean - when Satya told us she wasn’t with Vishkar anymore, we all believed her.”

“That’s – different. Kinda.”

“Yeah,” Hana exhales. “Kinda.”

The tide has pulled away from the rocky underbelly of the Gibraltar watchpoint, so Hana can’t hear the water lapping up against rock anymore. She focuses intently on the sounds Lucio’s making as he thinks, his body never still. She fiddles with the bangle on her wrist, careful not to press the button on the top. The orange sky is slowly fading into a deep red. Their spot – theirs, no one else’s – carved out in rock, above an abandoned barracks is the perfect place to watch the sun disappear, but they hardly come up here for that reason anymore.

“I mean, I watched the woman change, Hana. We all did -- She’s a different person than when she first got here. I was the only one who _didn’t_ trust her at first,” Lucio swivels around, his hands coming up to narrate his words. “And I mean, I was an asshole about it I’ll admit that but _no one_ trusts Reaper, or Widowmaker, and all of the grown-ups knew them before, before whatever made them what they are. I don’t know girl, it doesn’t sit right with me.”

“It doesn’t feel right,” Hana agrees, voice hard and unwavering. “None of it does.”

“I mean, we deserve to know, right?” Lucio asks, and it’s not the first time they’ve pondered it together. “Why they’re here, why they get a shot at redeeming themselves.”

“We do,” Hana assures him, like she does every time he asks. “We’re Overwatch, too. We should know why it fell last time, who they were before it did.”

“Yeah, like, why the guy who apparently caused it to fall is working with us? Damn,” Lucio rests his hands behind his head. He laughs a little. “We don’t even know if it _was_ his fault. How crazy is that?”

“Wait, what?” Hana asks, and Lucio looks at her innocently.

“Oh, shoot, yeah. Got talking to McCree a while ago, I mean, the dude left before Overwatch fell anyway but--”

“Okay, woah, hey, back up here Lulu,” Lucio’s smart, insanely smart, but Hana’s almost certain that his mind runs just as fast as he does. So much is caught up in there, it’s almost ironic how much of it gets left in the dust. “You got McCree to tell you about..?”

“… Overwatch? Back in its hay-day, as the man would say.” Lucio smiles at himself and Hana rolls her eyes fondly.

“Yeah, he just said he didn’t know why it fell, for the most part he believed what the media was telling the world. Said that 76 and Reapers fighting could very well have been the last straw, he wouldn’t have put it past them.”

“But?”

“But… I don’t know Han, the guy got all glassy eyed after that. Said he knew Reaper when he was, you know, not a smoke monster – Didn’t actually think something as petty as an argument would make him wanna do what he did.”

“Or didn’t do.” Hana muses.

“Yeah,” Lucio sighs. “Or didn’t do. It’s a shame the only people who knew him are so tight lipped.”

“Probably survivor’s guilt.”

“Wassat?”

“You know – survivors guilt?” Lucio’s face remains clueless, so Hana continues. “You see it all the time in the army, squadrons that come back a few people lighter, people get survivors guilt – they got out when another person didn’t and they feel bad about it. Not that they think it should have been them, but, ya know. They survived and someone else didn’t. They feel guilty about it.”

Lucio puts a hand on Hana’s shoulder.

“Jeez, Lu, I’m not gonna start crying.” Hana guffaws.

“Jeez, Han, sorry,” he laughs. “You’ve seen more shit than people give you credit for, girl.”

Hana shrugs. “You know, Reaper used to be someone, but now he’s practically dead. He’s alive, but he’s not. All the grown-ups who knew him must feel some kind of guilt, even if they hate him too.”

“And Amélie?”  

Hana shrugs again, screws her face up: _I dunno_. “We know less about her than we do about Reaper.”

“Hmm. What was his real name again?”

“Reyes.” Hana answers, not missing a beat.

“Reyes,” Lucio echoes. “Spanish?”

“Maybe.”

“Damn. Maybe we should hop on a computer and jack the name in. See what comes up.”

“Yeah, cause I’m sure there’s a whole write up of what _we_ wanna know on the Overwatch database.” Hana says. “We shouldn’t waste our time.”

Lucio hums, unsatisfied.

* * *

 

Really, it was Lucio’s fault for planting the idea in her head. Not that he’d known that he did, but he mentioned a computer and Hana’s mind had raced. She didn’t voice her idea to him, the boy had no poker face, and it didn’t seem feasible anyway. Every way Hana ran the possibility in her mind, she came up either kicked from Overwatch or on the receiving end of Angela’s Disapproving Glare.

There’s a part of her that genuinely doesn’t know which is worse.

And she had good intentions, at first. Soon after their talk, the deep blue of night appeared to chase after the sunset, so Hana skipped back to her room for a late night stream. Said stream had gone on longer than usual, she said goodbye to 80,000 people and then padded contently towards the kitchen for a midnight(ish) snack. On her way she’d seen Winston, mumbling sleepily to himself, ignoring her hello, and then shuffling back to his office.

“Winston?” She calls after him. Nothing, the scientist plods along, bumping into the wall trying to turn a corner in the hallway. Hana spots something fall from his person as he walks on, oblivious.

She jogs up to the corner and looks down, bending to pick up his glasses oh so carefully.

She tries his name again. Still, no response, even after catching up with him. Hana sighs loudly, and resolves to follow him just to make sure he doesn’t bump into or lose anything else.

Eventually they get back to his office, the sky beyond the large window reinforcing the late hour; a deep indigo littered with stars, reflected endlessly by the ocean beyond the watchpoint. The simple hues, and even the bright lights in Winston’s office, are a welcome sight after the perpetual darkness Hana has plunged herself into the past few hours.

Winston collapses onto the tyre in front of his desk and logs onto his computer with a yawn. A giant hand comes up to his face and pushes along his nose, which scrunches up when he realises what’s missing.

“Looking for these?”

Winston whirls around, and Hana laughs at his confused expression before he spots his glasses hanging from her grasp.

“D.va! Wha -- what are you doing up so late?” He stutters, and Hana rolls his eyes at him.

“I could say the same to you, you didn’t even notice me walking with you!”

Winston’s shock turns into a sheepish gaze. “It’s not my fault you’re so quiet,” he mumbles, gingerly extending a hand to grab his glasses from her. Hana pulls back.

“Aren’t you supposed to be sleeping?” She smiles cheekily.

“Oh… You heard that, did you?”

Hana gulps, flounders for a second but recovers.

“Only a little bit, Angela’s voice can be…”

“Authorative?” Winston provides, as if the doctor is in the room and glaring at him.

“Yeah, I tuned her out after like ten seconds, not gonna lie.”

Winston believes the lie, as easy as slipping on a genetically coded MEKA transmitter, and gives in pretty easily after that. Hana tells him softly that Angela is right and whatever he’s working on can wait. Even cracks a joke about Angela tranquilising him if he’s not careful. Winston laughs good-naturedly.

“I’m surprised Athena hasn’t told you off already.” Hana says as Winston slowly starts to walk with her back to the sleeping areas of the watchpoint. She hands the glasses over once they’re out of his office.

Winston makes a nervous noise as he slots them back onto his face (it takes him a few tries, and as Hana watches him she realises that Gorilla’s – super intelligent ones at least – could in fact rack up impressive sleeping bags), trying to pass it off a weak laugh. Hana’s not fooled.

She watches him walk into his room for good measure. As she leaves, he calls her name.

“Don’t, uh, tell anyone I was up so late. Please?”

Hana smiles and promises, delighted somewhat at the fact that for just a second she feels like the authority in the room.

The door slides shut, and a thought strikes her as she turns back towards the kitchen to make another attempt at a snack.

She doesn’t remember seeing Winston log out of his computer. Athena didn’t seem to be around, why that was could have been Winston’s doing. After getting away from Mercy, Athena still would have been there, telling him to sleep. It makes her wonder how on Earth Winston managed to silence the AI.

So, if Hana wanted to try it, now would be the best time.

When rumours of Overwatch resurfacing began to grip the world she remembers sitting down with one of her superiors and asking them about the organisation. She didn’t ask about Strike Commander Morrison, but that’s what the conversation quickly turned into. She didn’t ask about Captain Reyes, either. No matter where she went or who she asked, they were a pair. You couldn’t mention one without mentioning the other. 

You certainly couldn’t not mention _the promotion,_ as if it was an event of its own in Overwatch’s history.

Captain Reyes was handed leadership of Blackwatch – not that anyone would know for 20 years. He’d be tasked with the dirty work, the clean-up crew, the allegations that would only help bring Overwatch to its knees once the public decided that _they_ were the problem.

And at some point between then and now, he became the Reaper. A monster. One she was forced to fight alongside.

This may be Hana’s only chance to find out why.

Walking quickly into Winston’s office, fire in her legs propelling her forward, she finds and presses the button to close the sliding door, and the next one to lower the visibility through the large window. As she does, the overhead lights slowly brighten further. Hana’s too excited, after glancing over at Winston’s computer and confirming that he did indeed leave it logged on, to turn the lights back down.

She frowns at the tyre Winston uses as a seat, and heaves it (as quietly as she can) out of the way, seriously wishing she’d at least put some flat shoes on instead of ridiculously fluffy bedroom socks. She spots some discarded chairs in the corner and pulls one up to the desk. Her fingers hesitate over the keyboard.  

She should call Lucio. But it’s the middle of the night and the boy is about as quiet as his sound system.  

He’s probably asleep, deeply so as Hana knows him, and it’d be best to keep it that way. So she sends him a message, with a picture of Winston’s desktop and a thumbs up emoji, and gets to work.

It doesn’t take long to find, in a general sense, what she’s looking for. Old mission debriefings, physical copies and audio files, battle footage, correspondence between Overwatch and the UN--

And then one file catches her eye. _BLACKWATCH_. Hana can’t help but chuckle to herself, a cocked smile on her lips. She should make a passing comment to Athena about buffing up security to these files. It feels uncomfortably, _ridiculously_ easy to be looking at data such as this, able to open it and read its contents with no trouble.

Then it occurs to Hana that Athena _is_ the security, which for a second really, _really_ scares her.

(What kind of rotten luck it would be, Hana thinks solemnly, for the bad guys to launch a full scale attack on the ‘new Overwatch’ on the one night that she decided to be nosy.)

“Athena,” Hana mumbles, the smile still on her lips. “If you can hear me, or see me, I’m really sorry and please don’t tell anyone, kay?”

She hovers over the BLACKWATCH file. Hesitates, again.

_“Yeah, like, why the guy who apparently caused it to fall is working with us.”_ Lucio’s voice flits through her mind. _“We don’t even know if it_ was _his fault. How crazy is that?”_

_We don’t even know. How crazy is that?_

She clicks it, and the file explodes with data. Not just mission briefings and audio files, but medical reports, weapons designs, correspondence with a group whose name are CLASSIFIED on every piece of info. She doesn’t even know where to begin, her smile turning wide and triumphant.

First and foremost, there’s a lot of weapons designs. Sniper rifles with ceramic rounds intended to keep targets down even if they’re not dead, bullets that ricochet at high speeds designed for auto rifles that Blackwatch operatives took into close quarters, high stakes fights. Rocket launchers that tracked living targets, machine guns that didn’t need reloading – super nasty stuff. Efficient, but deadly. Purposefully so.

There’s a fair mention of undercover operations, a handful of agents sent to get x out of y, to make x person confirm this piece of information about z and so on.

(She ignores the mission reports, especially the ones that say FAILURE: AGENT CASUALTIES at the bottom.)

Hana’s stomach flutters with excitement as she scrolls down and sees recorded messages between Captain Reyes and CLASSIFIED. God, she hoped Reaper never found out about this. A part of her doesn’t care.

But she’s instantly met with disappointment. The messages are impossible to read. Every other sentence is blacked out, it doesn’t matter who wrote it – Reyes or this other group of people – because she can’t even figure out what’s being discussed in a general sense.

She scoffs loudly, annoyed and frustrated. Whoever this other group were, they were obviously desperate to hide their involvement with Blackwatch. Why did stupid secret bad guys have to be like this?

Having exhausted her interest, she scrolls back up to the top of the collection of data. Her eyes land on an audio file, with nothing but a date on it. Her headphones are around her neck, as ever, so she hooks them up to the computer. She tests three times to make sure nothing will play through the computers speakers before pressing play.

She listens carefully, but practically blanks out at the beginning. An older man, reciting a date, time, place and name that sounds-

Wait.

_Oh my god_ , she thinks.

...

_“Jesse McCree, 17, deadlock gang member. Wanted for robbery, resisting arrest, disturbing the peace, murder, assisted murder, and a whole load of other shit I aint gonna read out.”_

Hana’s heart shoots into her mouth. Reaper, Reyes, whatever he was, she was content listening in on his private affairs. 76’s too. She didn’t owe either of them anything.

But McCree was never anything but nice to her. Sweet. Flirty, to a point. Age differences sucked like that.

He was younger than her in this recording, talking to a Blackwatch operative?

_“Well, didn’ think Overwatch agents had such filthy mouths.”_

An Overwatch agent? Hana’s brow furrows. God, McCree sounded so young. Terrified, underneath it all. She listens intently.

_“I’m not Overwatch, kid.”_

_“Well shit, is there a fancy dress party going on that I don’t know about? Cause you look like the other four shit kickers comin’ in here askin’ me the same shit over and over.”_

_“I take it all of them told you what’ll happen if you don’t co-operate, huh?”_ The other man’s tone of voice is calm, calculated. It jars Hana, how different they sound. _“You’re gonna be locked up, Jesse. For life, if you’re lucky.”_

A few seconds of silence goes by. Hana can feel young McCree’s bravado drop.

_“Well, uh.”_ A dry laugh. _“I’ve always been pretty shit out of luck.”_

Something heavy makes impact with a desk. Hana definitely doesn’t jump, her mind jumps to a fist hitting a desk.

_“Blackwatch? The shit?”_

_“It’s a new subsection of Overwatch.”_

_“Ya’ll aren’t imaginative with your names are ya?”_

Hana can’t help but laugh. Some things don’t change.

_“We’re recruiting. This is your chance, kid.”_

_“To… What?”_

_“To get out. Start again. Do something with your life.”_

McCree lets out a _tch_ , disbelieving. There’s something about that more dominant voice that Hana feels is familiar. It’s going to bug her. In the recording, McCree laughs humorously.

_“So, what? Yer offering me one prison sentence instead of another?”_

_“You weren’t exactly a free man in the deadlock gang, were you kid?”_

_“Quit callin’ me kid.”_ McCree snaps, his voice wavering.

_“Jesse. This is your chance,”_ The older voice repeats itself, turning soft. No, softer, the authorative tone vehemently ingrained behind the words. A snake in the grass.   _“You want out. You need out, I can tell. You’re too young for this shit. You’ve got time, to set yourself straight.”_

_“Dunno ‘bout that. Why you wanna help me, anyway?”_

_“You’re a crack shot kid, took three of my men to take you out and you still gave them hell. All of em wanna see you put away just cause a seventeen year old not only got the better of them, but caused so much trouble.”_

_“Heh, well. I’m good at causing trouble.”_

_“Good at being underestimated, too?”_

Hana can _just_ hear it. She’s heard it before, the way the older voice tilts slightly, persuasive, pleasant to listen to. A snake in the grass, indeed. Coiled, waiting.

_“Yeah, only reason Jameson let me in is cus I stole some propane right under his sons nose.”_

_“You stole propane from the Deadlocks?”_

_“I got caught stealin’ from the Deadlocks. They were gonna kill me til’ I got a pistol in my hand and convinced em not to.”_

It takes the snake a while, until he asks; _“They forced you to prove yourself?”_

_“Naw, it was my idea. Figures Cunningham just liked knowing that a runt like me, eight years younger than his kid was actually capable enough ta steal from him.”_

_“Cunningham.”_ The older voice mutters, and continues without pausing. _“They let you in after that?”_

_“Forced me, actually. They needed numbers, only reason they did. They knew me, knew my family. Didn’ have a choice.”_

_“Can’t imagine Cunningham’s kid was happy about that.”_

McCree laughs, a little more genuine _. “Motherfucker always hated me. Probably happier than a bug in July that I got myself caught.”_

_“They’re down a gunslinger, can’t be too happy about that.”_

_“They got plenty more. Maybe not like me,”_ Hana can hear his easy going smile. _“But they got plenty of assholes with guns now.”_

_“How’d that happen so fast?”_

_“How’d what happen so fast?”_

_“You said they needed numbers when you joined,”_ There’s a creek, the older man sitting forward in his seat, suddenly hanging on every one of Jesse’s words _._ Waiting to jump through the grass, bite at Jesse’s throat. _“Can’t have been that long ago?”_

_“’Bout three years.”_

_“Three years, and you’re overly confident about the fact that losing you isn’t a big loss, kid.”_

McCree scoffs. _“Cause it aint, why do you think you’ve been chasing your tails trying to find em? They got a lotta idiots now, expendable ones,”_ A pause. _“Like me.”_

_“You’re not expendable. Cunningham’s an idiot to think you are.”_

Grabbing his neck, teeth sinking in.

_“Aww shucks, you aint just sayin that?”_

Latching on.

_“No, kid. I’m not. Frankly I’m surprised they haven’t come back for you yet.”_

Biting down.

_“Well gee, I guess maybe they just don’t give a shit about me.”_

Waiting for the struggling to stop.

_“And you don’t give a shit about them. If you do want out, now’s your chance.”_

Jesse McCree is all bravado, one liners, a cigar hanging out of one side of his lopsided mouth. He’s always smiling, always has something to say, more often than not at the most inopportune time. He makes Hana laugh. He makes everyone laugh. His wit is as sharp as his shot, harsh and brutal but laidback and delivered with ease of experience.

This McCree is a frightened boy. Damaged, Hana thinks. A mouse who couldn’t see the snake. Her heart drops into her stomach.

_“It’s your choice, McCree.”_

It’s kind of like a TV show, and Hana would be screaming at the screen for McCree to say _no_ if this situation were indeed fictional.

Instead the young cowboy sighs.

_“Yeah. Alright. Don’t gotta ask me twice.”_

...

The recording cuts off. Hana sits back, eyebrows knitted together, feeling uneasy.

She’d never exactly, you know, asked any of the original Overwatch members about their pasts. _Their_ pasts, not the pasts of the monsters Hana was so eager to learn about. Not even Angela, Torbjorn or Reinhardt, who she was certain would tell her, with bright smiles and optimistic tales, as much as they were comfortable with at the very least.

It just never crossed her mind – until Lucio had mentioned how little they knew about the Overwatch back in the ‘golden days’. Both of them ideas in their parents’ minds. They had a right to know what happened, how everything fell apart, so that they could strive to make it better. He’d insisted, which of course she agreed with.

And then Reaper turned up, with Widowmaker in tow, and the feeling only grew.

Still, how was Hana supposed to look McCree in the eye knowing that he joined Overwatch through _the_ shady organisation that the public accused them of lying about? Not to mention all the things he did as a part of whatever that gang was. Murder. Assisted murder. He was younger than her, then. Probably thought he was turning a new leaf by joining Blackwatch, the older man made it sound like that was the case. But if the public here-say was to be believed, he did much worse things as a part of Blackwatch.

Knowing this, just thinking about it -- Hana feels _wrong_. Guilty, less like reading someone’s diary, more like probing their mind for answers. Taking it without asking.

The question of whose voice interrogated McCree still bugs her. She figures the best way to find out who it is would be to go back into the original Overwatch files. The man said he wasn’t a part of the organisation, but he sounded so bitter about it. There was a good chance he _used_ to work for them, at least.

She clicks around a few more audio files – even the classified ones under the Overwatch name are better labelled and more detailed than the Blackwatch ones – listens to the first thirty seconds of a handful of them before tutting and exiting out. One catches her eye, a conversation between Morrison and Reyes, and she forgets momentarily about finding out who McCree’s mystery recruiter was.

She checks the date on the file. It’s marked only a couple years after Overwatch came into the spotlight.

The cursor hovers over it, and Hana swears at herself.

She likes 76. Jack, Morrison, whatever. The man seemed to have a million names. Hero, vigilante. Not commander. Never, ever Commander. He’s quiet, stoic. Somehow managing to keep her entire mech pinned in the vicinity of his bio emitter when she refuses to get healed up before jumping back into the fight. She was told once that men like that, _soldiers_ like that, their hearts are too big for their body. They put more faith in their actions than their words.

Reaper scares her. She acts like he doesn’t, sure, spits back what he gives in the way of quick remarks whenever Winston or Tracer or 76 are around. She didn’t keep her opinions to herself when the grown-ups told the rest of the team that not only Reaper, but Widowmaker were going to join them. They were the _bad guys_. They were everything Hana had been told to fight against, to stop, to put an end to. And yet, no one thought to explain to her just why they were being forced to work together.

She hovers a second longer, blood turning to ice, remembering the day Tracer let slip who Soldier 76 and Reaper really were. The brit was adamant that she not ask, don’t bring it up, just don’t mention it and if the rumour were true that a fight between the two men was responsible for the fall of Overwatch, Hana could see why. Everyone treated Reaper and 76 in the same room as a bomb just waiting to go off. She could only imagine what that was like when they were Reyes and Morrison.

Still, all of that wasn’t enough to rationalise why on Earth the Reaper was allowed to join them – along with Talon’s deadliest assassin.

The idea that this new Overwatch could potentially fall to the same… _Petty_ (albeit explosive) argument was an idea Hana was not willing to entertain. And no matter how outspoken she was about the fact, no one seemed to care.

When a strategy doesn’t work the last thing you do is repeat it. You change it until you find something that works. And even then, repetition was dangerous. It made you easy to predict. Hana was _not_ easy to predict. Thousands of people would be dead if she was.

She swears at herself again, this time in Korean.

She clicks, a cold feeling setting in her stomach. 

**Author's Note:**

> Yes. Yes the title is from Steven Universe. Away from the context of the show it does make sense, or at least I hope it will eventually. 
> 
> Come follow me on tumblr! nerdy-kins.tumblr.com


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